Early 1960s. Working 2-1 [[Vernor Station), Vernor to the River, the John Lodge to 14th street. Not much there but warehouses, a couple of all-night diners, the post office, and Ste. Anne's Church. Midnight shift. Not a creature was stirring and.....well, you know the drill. Coffee stop at 1:00 a.m., lunch at 3:00 a.m.
Finally, about 4:00 a.m., pull into the train sidings at the foot of 12th street. Regular group of fishermen along the rail, hoping for a carp to come along and make their night exciting. Would shoot the breeze with most of them, talking about the Tigers or whatever was going on at the time. Occasionally one would proudly show off a largemouth bass that was unlucky enough to be passing by. As they wandered off, one by one, back into the car, and turn the transistor radio on to "Nightflight 760" for an hour of elevator music. Maybe you and your partner might drift off a bit, but you heard every word from KQA-371, even thought Scout 2-1 rarely got a mention.
Finally about 6:30 a.m, you got a run to the Post Office to escort an armored truck carrying cash reserves to the Federal Building. Quick trip downtown, then back to the precinct, where the sun was struggling to rise. Off-duty roll call at 8:00 a.m., and home to bed.
My God, that's the way police work used to be. I grieve for those on the job today, wherever they may be.
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